


The Road to Stanford

by bansheequeen (queenbanshee), xtremeroswellian



Series: Definitely not the end. [3]
Category: Stydia - Fandom, teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Allison is alive! But not really in this fic, Alternate Canon, And Stydia Angst, And Stydia Fluff, College AU, F/M, Mentions of Allison Argent - Freeform, Mentions of Scott McCall - Freeform, Mostly just Stydia talking a lot, mentions of Sheriff Stilinski - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-08-09 21:37:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7818232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenbanshee/pseuds/bansheequeen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtremeroswellian/pseuds/xtremeroswellian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia and Stiles try to figure out the transition between Beacon Hills and College. Together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Since the RPG for this verse has kind of died down, the two of us decided to write a series of almost one-shots (as in, some parts may be longer). This will be very Stydia-centric and the time that passes between the chapters may vary!

The breeze from the window is warm, but comfortable as Stiles moves from where he’s sitting at his desk to tack the map of Stanford’s campus to his white board with a tiny magnet. “Okay. So you got into Florence Moore Hall.” He tacks one end of a red string to the board where that is on the map, glancing over his shoulder at her. She’s lying on her stomach on his bed, chin propped up on her hands and feet kicked up into the air and there’s something so achingly familiar about it that it kind of hurts. 

“According to my impeccable map reading skills, that’s about an 8 minute walk to Wilbur Hall, where I’ll be.” He tacks the other end of the red string to that place on the map. 

“You’d think they’d have given us preference since we put our requests together,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. She’s just not happy at all that she and Stiles aren’t in the same building. Truthfully, she’d rather just share a room with him if co-ed rooms were allowed, but apparently college students can’t be trusted with members of the opposite sex. 

“I mean, it’s bad enough we both requested singles and neither one of us got it.” Because that’d definitely have made talking about the supernatural a lot easier, too. 

He makes a face. He’s not thrilled about the fact that they’re in different dorms, either, especially not when he’s supposed to be making sure she doesn’t go into a banshee fugue state and wander off into the night somewhere alone. “Stupid _space issues_ ,” he grumbles, using air quotes around space issues. 

Then he shakes his head, chewing his thumbnail as he studies the map. “It’s okay. We’ll make it work.” It isn’t like they really have another choice. Besides, it’s not really that much different than living a few miles away from her here in Beacon Hills. At least at Stanford they’ll be closer distance-wise, and farther away from the Nemeton and its supernatural magnetic pull. 

She smiles softly when he voices his frustration too. There’s just something comforting in knowing she’s not the only one frustrated about it. And more importantly, that Stiles is gonna be the one working with her so that they can find a way around this. Because she absolutely plans on finding a way around it when they get there. 

“I guess it’s not so bad if we’re at least within walking distance,” she adds, taking a deep breath and sitting up, just bending her knees behind herself and propping herself up on her arms. 

“Also I’m buying a bike,” he tells her, glancing at her again over his shoulder. “For the campus.” Which his kind of hilarious to think about since he hasn’t been on a bicycle since he was maybe twelve. “They recommend biking when possible. Plus it’ll save on gas money and wear and tear on the jeep, which really doesn’t need anymore than it already has.” 

“Yeah, I’m not riding a bike,” she says, shaking her head a little. It doesn’t go with most of her outfit choices. But it does bring up a point that she’s been meaning to touch up with him and that she knows will very much be a sensitive one. 

“We do need to talk about our car situation, though,” she points out, watching him closely as she does. It’s been such an issue with him and that damn jeep, she just knows this will be an argument waiting to happen. Even if they have been a little better about their arguments since they decided to go to Stanford together.

He smirks at her knowingly at that, not the least bit surprised she’s not going to be biking it on campus. He can just recall memories of her riding a bike of her own when they were younger. Not that he ever biked past her house or anything. Nope. 

Stiles arches an eyebrow when she mentions the car situation. “I’m not leaving my jeep in Beacon Hills,” he informs her. 

Yep, of course he knows exactly what she’s going to say. This is one of the reasons why arguing about _anything_ with Stiles is so infuriating. Unlike everyone else, he can actually keep up with her. So Lydia just takes a deep breath and purses her lips together, then stands up, looking over at him. 

“Stiles. Driving the jeep there doesn’t make _any_ sense.” Her voice is even, serious. She needs to make her point. “My car is newer, more reliable, has an actual working AC, is _much_ more comfortable and will get us there faster.” 

“Okay, first of all, it’s going to take your car, my jeep, and probably at least two moving vans to get all of _your_ stuff there to begin with.” His voice is tinged with humor, and he’s fighting not to grin. “Secondly, there’s nothing wrong with having both of our vehicles on campus in case we need a back-up plan. Also, the AC in the jeep is fixed.” 

“Well, I’m already renting a truck to take my stuff there, thank you for your concern,” she says, arching her eyebrows at him. Because, yes, she does have a lot, and she’s planning on only taking the essentials of her wardrobe so she can rebuild it with what she feels is more appropriate wear when she gets there.

“But I’m not talking about the _move_.” And why the hell is he almost grinning at her? Doesn’t he get this is a very important situation? “I’m talking about when we go back and forth, there’s very little logic in both of us driving there and back, especially if we’re coming home every weekend.” 

He can’t help but snort, then he covers his mouth to try and cover up a laugh that escapes anyway. He rubs a hand over his eyes and turns back to his board, still grinning, because of _course_ she’s actually renting a truck when he’d just been joking about it.  
“Well, yeah, I don’t mind carpooling regardless of which vehicle we take, but okay, what if something goes wrong with _your_ car while we’re there? Or what if you have to stay and study for a big test one weekend and I need to come home? Or vice versa? We’re going to need both. Plus we’ll still need a vehicle for getting around the city even if we just want to go somewhere off campus to eat,” he points out.

“The likelihood of my car breaking down against the jeep breaking down is much smaller, you know that.” Her car is barely two years old. And she’s fairly sure the jeep is older than _they_ are. “So your plan is just drive it to campus and leave it there when we come home? And you’re not going to complain and cry about how much _she_ is going to miss you, being abandoned in that terrifying campus parking lot by _herself_ all weekend?” If it sounds like she’s mocking him? Good.

“And the likelihood of werewolves being real just three years ago were slim to none, but surprise.” He shrugs it off. He knows that his friends don’t really understand why he’s so attached to the jeep. Well, Scott maybe. Probably. He glances back at her at the mocking tone and points at her with one of his markers. “You think you’re being so cute right now.” He picks up a stuffed wolf from his desk and tosses at her head.

Lydia gives him her brightest, sweetest looking smile as she easily catches the stuffed wolf and hugs it to her chest. “And you know better than to try to compare the logic of car mechanics and reliability to the supernatural.” 

He can’t help but smile back faintly when she gives him that look. He sets the marker on the board and moves over to sit beside her on the bed. “Want the truth?” He glances at her sideways.

She adjusts on the bed, arching her eyebrows curiously. She has a couple of snarky remarks at the tip of her tongue, but something about the look on his face when he sits down next to her makes her bite them back. “Always.” 

Stiles rests his elbows on his knees, pursing his lips for a moment. “The jeep was my mom’s,” he says quietly. “She’d had it since she was 16 and she loved it. I know it has its problems and isn’t the most reliable, but I can’t leave her behind. I won’t.” 

“Oh,” Lydia whispers quietly, her eyes widening a little at his explanation. Yeah, that definitely makes sense. And it also makes her stomach tighten a little as she looks at him. He doesn’t really look upset, but she feels terrible. And thanks to their rule about improving communication between them, she decides to just be honest with him, too. “Now I feel like a jerk. I had no idea, Stiles.” 

He reaches out and rests his hand between her shoulder blades and offers her a soft smile. “I know. I’m not even sure Scott remembers, honestly. It’s okay. I didn’t tell you because I wanted you to feel like a jerk.” He shrugs a little. “I just want you to understand why I’m not leaving it here.” 

“Yeah, I know that’s not why you told me,” she says sincerely, smiling a little at him when he smiles at her. “And it is a pretty good reason to want to keep _her_ around.” She doesn’t know much about his mom, he rarely ever mentions her, but she knows the two of them were close. She vaguely remembers Claudia from when they were little, coming to pick Stiles up at school. She’s pretty sure that was her, anyway. 

“So your plan is to leave the jeep on campus?” she asks quietly.

He leans in and gently bumps her shoulder with his own before rising to his feet once more. “Yeah. Plan B. I don’t like not having a Plan B. So it kinda serves both purposes, you know?” He moves back toward the board. “Plus I’ve been promised that she’ll be purring like a kitten when I pick her up tomorrow.” 

“As long as we carpool whenever possible.” She won’t argue against the jeep anymore, but she still doesn’t like the idea of him driving it back and forth by himself. “Do you need a ride to pick her up tomorrow?”

“I was gonna see if Dad could drop me by, but he has an early shift, so a ride would be great,” he admits. He’s quiet for a moment, turning to glance at her. “I mean, if you’re not busy.” 

“I’m not,” she assures him with a smile. “I’m supposed to go shopping with Allison at some point this weekend, but her dad has her doing some training stuff tomorrow, so it probably won’t be until Sunday.” Because unlike her, her best friend needs to get a whole new college wardrobe _before_ she moves. Lydia insisted. Especially if she’s gonna continue pretending she’s single and not emotionally invested in her ex.

“Yeah, I’m supposed to hang out with Scott this weekend, too.” Since they’re running out of time. His chest tightens a little involuntarily, the way it always does when he realizes there’s only a few days before he and Lydia are taking off for Stanford. He’s pretty sure he’d be even more anxious about it if he was going by himself. Or if she was. “That’d be good then. Maybe we can grab lunch or something before, and swing by the grocery store and see if they have any boxes we can use to pack.” 

“Yeah, good idea.” She’s feeling pretty anxious about things herself. Watching her best friend nearly die while trying to save her was hard, if not impossible, to get over. And even if Allison will be less than an hour away from her, she’s still not gonna be around as much, or as easily. Even if she feels like the four of them are making a really good effort to manage to stay around each other. “What time do you want me to pick you up?”

“Does eleven work?” he asks. He’s not a morning person by any means, which should be interesting considering he has an 8 AM class three mornings a week soon. Then again he’s spent most of his life getting up early for school so it’s not going to be that different. If anything he’ll be able to sleep a little later since he’ll literally be living _at_ school. Involuntarily he makes a face. 

“Eleven is fine,” she smirks a little at him. She’s used to waking up two to three hours before she has to be anywhere so she can get ready in the morning. It’s a long process, but she enjoys it. Doing her hair and makeup gives her time to think and fully wake up before she has to leave the house. Mornings where she’s late for whatever reason and can’t get through her full morning routine irritate her. Those are usually the days when she wears her hair up, also a sign not to mess with her. “I won’t make you wake up early on your final days of your vacation.”

“And it’s greatly appreciated since they’re numbered,” he responds. “I’m already regretting the 8 AM freshman seminar course and the way it’s ruining my life in the future.” He’s pretty sure Future Stiles will hate him even more for that decision. “What’s your schedule look like? I’m assuming you finalized everything already too.” 

“Isn’t that only three times a week? You still have four days of freedom in the morning,” she teases, then nods a little. “Yeah, I have it all ready. It’s not as packed because I’m taking a couple of classes online, and I already read the books on them so once I have the syllabus I should be able to work ahead without a problem. I’m only taking fifteen hours because my advisor strongly recommended I didn’t go for eighteen. And, considering all the supernatural stuff, I figured he might have a point.” Not that he knows about any of it, but they might need to make emergency trips home at any given time.

“Hey. Three days is a _lot_. It’s not as bad as five, but I could’ve had none and been just fine. But no, I couldn’t take Freshman Seminar at 10 because it’s the only time they’re offering Criminology 101.” He makes a face, and then shakes his head a little at her. “Of course you’ve read the books already. I don’t even know what books are going to be required for mine, but you’ve already got them and read them.” He huffs, wishing he had another stuffed animal to throw at her. 

Well, it’s not like she’s had that much to do in the past couple of weeks, anyway. And she really misses school. “I just called the bookstore on campus and asked them which books most professors use for those classes. It might be an old edition, but still. It wasn’t that hard, anyway. I should have been able to get out with at least one of those classes with my AP credits, so I feel like if I have to take it anyway, I might as well not waste too much time on it.” 

When he huffs indignantly at her, though, she smiles. “I could get your books for you, if you wanna get a headstart.” She really doesn’t think he will. For as smart as Stiles is, he’s hardly the thinking ahead type.

He cocks his head to the side, considering that. “I don’t know. I should probably wait until I know for sure which editions we’re using. I definitely can’t afford to buy the books twice.” He scratches the back of his head. “Plus I’ve only got fourteen credit hours so I should be able to juggle that, I think.” 

“I’m sure you’ll be fine, anyway.” She means it, one hundred percent. Stiles more than belongs at Stanford, too. He’ll have no problems with the actual material. Even if he might need some nudging with the actual focusing on school work every now and then. He’s always had amazing grades. 

“Do we need to figure anything else out?” she asks as she stands up, looking over at this board that, for once, is covered in college information rather than the supernatural.

He glances at her sideways as she comes to stand beside him and a soft smile touches his lips. There’s a flutter of excitement, of _hope_ that comes with a new journey even when you’re also kind of terrified. He hesitantly reaches out and squeezes her hand. “I think we’ve got it covered.” 

“Yeah, I think we do,” she says, eyes on the board for a moment longer as she looks at everything they decided on today. And then she turns to look at him again. “Thanks for inviting me over for the planning session.” She’s feeling more confident about the move working out and especially their plans about making sure Allison and Scott see them all the time.

“Can’t have a planning session about our future if you’re not here, can I?” He winks at her, not really thinking about how his words sound. 

“I guess not.” It doesn’t occur to her how it might sound, either. Because this is their future. And considering the rough patches they’ve been through -- with each other and in general -- she’s just extremely glad he’s going to be there with her through all this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic is coming along slowly. We have a couple more chapters done, but for now, we're focusing on the Stydia Month fic we've been working on. We might come back to this one when we're done with that, but we haven't decided yet!
> 
> We do love this 'verse, though, so there should be more of it in the future!

By the time her mom leaves, Lydia is exhausted. But fairly happy. They managed to not only move in all of her things into the dorm and set up all of her decorations as planned, but they also made it to Stanford just early enough to sneak in her brand new mattress -- which apparently they aren’t allowed to bring into campus -- and get rid of the old one, without her new roommate making her way there. 

She takes a quick picture of her side of the room and texts it to Allison, then shoots Stiles a quick text too with:

>> I’m done. :)

And she imagines he’s long done with his own set up, too. But it’s still kinda early for dinner, so hanging out in her dorm for a while might be necessary. 

Just as Lydia sits down by her vanity/desk, though, she hears the door opening and turns around to see a big man carrying a few boxes, followed by the blonde she knows is supposed to be her new roommate. Hillary Griffith. The girl doesn’t seem so bad from what Lydia googled. smart, obviously or she wouldn’t be there. Human as far as they can tell. And from Los Angeles, which makes Lydia slightly jealous for the wide variety of shopping places the other girl grew up with. But she wouldn’t trade the pack for Rodeo Drive anyway. 

Lydia stands up and smiles her best friendly smile when she sees the girl, though. “You must be Hillary.” 

The blonde girl looks around the room, eyes widening at how decorated Lydia’s side already is, at how all of her things are already unpacked and arranged, clearly impressed. “Oh, wow. Yeah, I’m Hillary. You must be Lydia?” She smiles back at her and extends her hand, tucking some hair behind her ear. 

“I am.” She smiles, taking the offered hand. As expected, Hillary knows how to dress herself, but there’s definitely room for improvement. Not-- that Lydia is already thinking of her as a project or anything, she definitely doesn’t have time for that. It’s just weird to her how someone who was raised in a place like LA doesn’t have a better fashion sense. Especially someone who is obviously concerned about her looks enough to try. 

“I just finished up with my side, do you need any help?” 

“Oh. That’s okay, really. Daddy hired movers,” she explains with a smile, stepping aside as another one of the men comes in carrying three large boxes and setting them on the desk by her unmade bed. “He says he doesn’t want to make his back any worse than it already is.” She opens the flaps on one of the boxes as the movers head back out to get more of the stuff. “I didn’t want to ruin my manicure.” She holds her hands out to reveal the French manicure she’d had done just a few hours before. 

“But wow, you must have gotten here really early. Your side looks great!” 

Lydia is definitely not one to judge. She and her mom would definitely have _prefered_ to hire movers than to bring everything up, but with the Sheriff and Stiles helping them unload, it hadn’t been too bad. Stiles made the most adorable faces when he was carrying heavy things, apparently. She might have texted the pack a couple of pictures.

“Thank you. My mom and I love decorating together, she’s been having ideas for my dorm room since we got the floor plan.” And yes, her mom has great taste too, so Lydia doesn’t mind.

“That’s so cool.” Hillary’s smile is bright and genuine. “And you even picked my favorite colors. All of our stuff is going to match perfectly!” She sounds very happy about that. 

“Oh, perfect.” Lydia smiles back, but she doesn’t know why something about that bothers her. Maybe she just likes having her own style without someone else who matches it. It’s why she and Allison get along as well as they do. They’re similar enough where it matters, but they’re still extreme opposites of each other in some ways. “I can’t wait to see what you do with your side.” 

If Hillary notices that Lydia’s not entirely sincere, she doesn’t mention it. She starts pulling her clothes out of the boxes and hanging them up in the closet on her side of the room methodically until she’s finished, then she moves onto the rest of her things, making up her bed with a blue bedspread and three fluffy, ruffled pillows, straightening them up meticulously. 

Then she unrolls a large poster and grabs some pushpins, slipping her shoes off and climbing atop the bed she just made and standing up on it, straightening the poster out and carefully tacking it up on the wall, tilting her head and smiling. 

For the most part, Lydia isn’t really paying much attention to what the girl is doing anymore, she’s texting Allison, waiting for Stiles to reply to her and touching up her makeup here and there. 

Until, that is, she sees the reflection of the poster on her vanity mirror. And she’s absolutely horrified. Her own personal boyband phase lasted about .2 seconds when she was twelve and went to a sleep over. Even if she pretended otherwise with her friends for a while longer than that. And now her college-aged roommate is apparently attaching a very hideous One Direction poster to the wall above her bed. And sighing dreamily at it. 

She’s not sure even her own poker face is that good, so Lydia takes a deep breath, smiles and quickly reaches for her purse as she stands up. 

“Well, I gotta go meet up with a friend of mine.” The lack of specifics such as location is on purpose, she doesn’t wanna run into her new roommate until she gets that horrifying image out of her system. 

“Good luck with the rest of your unpacking!” She calls on her way out the door.

“Oh. Wow, you made a friend already.” Hillary’s eyes widen a little. “You definitely got a headstart on everything.” She laughs. “See you later!” 

Lydia waves her hand at her and grins her best friendly grin before closing the door behind herself. And then she sighs, letting her face fall. She’ll definitely have nightmares.

>> You better not be passed out in your dorm.  
>> I’m headed to to cafeteria and I need you to show up soon.

And then she realizes how that sounds and the fact that she’ll probably give Stiles a heart attack if that’s all she sends.

>> No, I’m not in real trouble.  
>> Just need some commiserating.

* * * 

Stiles got done setting up his side of the room hours ago. He’s been pacing the length of the room mostly out of boredom and the desire to go see how Lydia’s doing with things, but he’s been suppressing it because he knows she needs time to settle in before he crashes the party. He can already imagine how her room’s going to look when she’s through and a grin tugs at his mouth involuntarily. 

He turns, tensing when the door opens and a guy who looks about his age with curly dark hair and a leather coat strolls in. There’s an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth and Stiles swears to god if he’s not really a smoker -- like that kid in _The Fault In Our Stars_ , he’s requesting a new roommate assignment immediately. And if he tries lighting up in the room? He’s also requesting a new roommate assignment immediately. 

“You Gavin?” 

From the looks of it, Gavin was just gonna make his way into the room and not acknowledge Stiles at all. When he does, he stares at him through narrowed eyes then throws the backpack he’s carrying over his bed, almost stumbling upon the transparent board in the middle of the room.

“The fuck is this?”

He arches an eyebrow at the near stumbling and wonders if this guy is an alcoholic too. “It’s a board,” he says slowly. “You write on it.” And maybe he’s using it as a room divider, too. There’s no reason it can’t serve a double purpose. 

“You gotta keep this here?” He’s suddenly more focused, unimpressed. His hair falling over his eyes a little as he stares right at Stiles. And looks like he might actually want to set the board on fire.

“Yep.” Stiles is equally unimpressed, and he doesn’t really care one way or the other if Gavin likes it or not. He drops onto his bed, kicking his feet up and grabbing his phone off the nightstand. He has missed text messages from Lydia. He opens them, glancing over at the guy for a moment. 

“You a musician?” 

“Why, need a label for me on your board?” Gavin asks, still standing there for a moment, he reaches up with a finger, touching the acrylic and looking like he might actually be tracing a word that used to be there. 

Stiles narrows his eyes. He already kind of wants to break the guy’s finger. “Maybe.” He turns his attention back to his phone and frowns a little, sitting back up. He quickly sends Lydia a return message. 

>> I can do commiserating.  
>> See you in a few.  
>> Also my roommate’s a douchebag.

She’s already out of her building by the time she gets his replies and she’s definitely relieved since she doesn’t know exactly where his dorm is just yet. 

>> Mine is part of a cult.  
>> Hurry up. 

His eyebrows shoot up at that and he sincerely hopes she’s joking about the cult thing. He does not want to deal with a cult on his first day at Stanford. Or any day at Stanford, for that matter. He tucks his phone in his pocket and heads for the door. “Don’t forget this is a non-smoking dorm so if you want to light up, take it outside. Or feel free to change dorms if you want. No hard feelings.” He grabs his keys and heads out the door without waiting for a response. 

He does get a response though, in the sound of a zippo popping open and the faint sound of gas creating a flame just before he closes the door to the room.

Stiles shakes his head a little, making a face. He’ll just drop by the RA’s room and file his first complaint before he goes to meet up with Lydia. 

* * * 

Lydia is already there, catching up on her emails on her phone by the time he gets there. Feeling when pack is around has become normal for her. When she looks up, she has a smile on her lips as she looks toward the door of the cafeteria, just a second before Stiles actually shows up. And then she lifts a hand to wave him over.

He spots her almost immediately, waving back and waiting until a group of people move past him carrying trays and laughing together before he crosses the room to where she’s sitting. “I heard a rumor that your dorm’s cafeteria serves ice cream every night. Confirm or deny,” he tells her as he drops down across from her, arching his eyebrows. He knows of course, that it’s the truth. He’d read all about the conditions of Florence Moore housing and how the people who donated the money for it to be built required that ice cream be served nightly with dinner. 

“Confirm. Eight different flavors every night. I don’t know if they’re any good, though,”she says, watching him as he takes the seat in front of her. “We’re also the only dorm that has a closet big enough to fit a woman’s formal dress. _That_ is a priority.” She smirks.

He sighs heavily, leaning his forearms on the table. “Well no wonder I didn’t get in. I’m but a lowly peasant,” he jokes. “All right, so when you said your roommate was in a cult, that was a metaphor, right? She’s not actually in a cult?” 

“Depends on your definition of cult,” she says, arching her eyebrows as she sets her phone down on the table and leans forward. And Lydia doesn’t really look amused about this as she leans forward on her elbows and looks straight at him. “When I left, she was putting up and One Direction poster on her side of the room.” 

His eyebrows shoot up and he leans closer, conspiratorially. “Clearly she has to be killed.” 

Lydia gives him a look and reaches out, smacking his hand gently. “This is serious! I’m taking you back to my dorm just so you can see how terrifying their faces are. And they’re staring right at _my_ bed, watching _me_ sleep.” 

He tries not to laugh at the expression on her face. “Okay it’s not like I’m a fan, but it could be worse? She could have a giant poster of Satan tacked up above her bed.” 

“Not like you’re a fan? Are you sure? You just got defensive.” Of course she’s teasing him, because this is much nicer and much easier than she expected their first day on campus, away from Beacon Hills and from Scott and Allison to be. So far, anyway. But at least he looks like he’s in a good mood.

“Maybe I’m just envious of the poster,” he responds without really thinking about it. Then he grows more serious, glancing around and focusing on her. “Meanwhile I’m pretty sure _my_ roommate is an actual serial killer. Or possibly just a junkie with a fetish for touching other people’s stuff.” 

She’s not entirely sure what he means envious of the poster, but she’s about to brush it off with a Twilight joke when he changes the subject. She’s okay with that, even if that instantly worries her.

“What do you mean? Are you actually talking ‘Stiles senses evil’, or you just don’t like him?” Because after Theo, if she had any doubts about his gift for figuring out if people are good or bad, she definitely doesn’t anymore.

“Both,” he responds, making a face. “I don’t know yet. I don’t like him, and he might be evil.” He knows of course, that just because he doesn’t like someone doesn’t mean they’re evil. There are a lot of people he doesn’t like that aren’t evil. “We’ll see how it shakes out.” 

“Well, is he still at your dorm? I can come by and see if anything seems off.” Because she’s not okay with Stiles just ‘seeing how it shakes out’ when it comes to his life.

“I have no idea. I’m sure you’ll get a chance to meet him before you really want to,” he responds, grimacing. “And then once you do you’ll wish you hadn’t.” 

“I’m definitely coming back with you after we eat, then.” No arguments. She’s not risking it even if he is willing to. And yes, she knows that this is probably just them living in Beacon Hills for too long and being paranoid, but she’s not willing to take a chance at all.

“I need to figure out where your dorm is anyway.” And she’s not leaving until she knows for sure he’s okay.

He doesn’t argue. He’s not about to protest hanging out with her longer. He glances around and then back at her. “We should get in line for dinner. I don’t know about you, but I’m actually hungry.” Apparently moving was just enough work to get an appetite. Plus, ice cream. 

“It’s not far from here. I was pretty close with my 8 minute walk estimation.” He winks at her and rises to his feet. 

“You didn’t ride your bike?” She stands up and follows him toward the line. One of the things about living here is definitely gonna be getting used to the food. She really hopes it’s not terrible. Not that it can get much worse than the one at their high school. Hopefully. 

“Nah, not this time. Figured I’d get the lay of the land on foot first,” he tells her as they move to get in the line for dinner. “I was thinking about walking the entire campus before classes start next week. Making sure I know where everything is. Interested?” 

“Yep, definitely. I need to find the library.” Where she’s expecting to be spending a lot of her time since actually staying in the dorm, having to share a room is probably gonna get old real soon. “Did you find anything on your way here already?” 

“No, it’s mostly just other dorms between here and there,” he tells her. He shrugs a little. “We’ll figure it out though.” They always did.

Lydia smiles softly at him and nods. Somehow they keep saying that to each other. That they’ll figure it out. And somehow it gets more comforting every time. At least for her it does. Because even if they don’t, at least they’re in this together. “How are you doing?” she asks, lowering her voice as she takes a step forward in line, then looks back at him.

“So far so good,” he answers with a shrug. “I mean. We’ve been here for a few hours and so far no one’s tried to maim or kill either of us. It’s like a whole new record.” He nudges her lightly with his elbow.

She nods, nudging him back with her arm even as she unconsciously leans a little into him. “Well, it has to be safer than home.” Where one of them nearly got killed on a weekly basis. “I’m just glad this worked out.” Him being there with her, coming to Stanford. And even their dorms not being that far away.

He leans into her, too, resting a hand at the small of her back as the line starts moving forward. “Me too, Lyds,” he tells her softly. He wishes that Scott and Allison were there, too, though. And even Liam and Mason. He wonders how they’re doing back in Beacon Hills, and he hopes things are quiet. He’ll call his dad later and check in to be sure.


	3. Chapter 3

Lydia Martin  
11:30 AM  
>> Woke up with a huge bag of Reese’s outside the door with a note that said "I'm sorry" care to explain?

He's sorry for a lot of things, but he doesn't know how to tell her about all of the reasons behind this particular apology.

>> For not rescuing you from that douche bag sooner.

Considering she's currently eating all of the chocolate and peanut butter as she drinks a gallon of water to help her hangover, apology has been pretty much accepted.

>> This may come as a surprise to you, but you're not my personal bodyguard, Stiles.

Except he is. They're supposed to stick together here, the only members of the pack at Stanford, and he'd been too distracted by -- shit, he doesn't even remember her name now -- to realize that some guy was trying to drag Lydia away from the party when she was too inebriated to protect herself.

>> That is definitely a surprise, yes. 

And that's why it's only been _pretty much_ accepted. Because she was drunk, yes. Mostly because of him and whatever her name was. She just couldn't stand to watch Stiles all over that girl like that. And honestly, she's the one who started flirting with McCoy to try and get Stiles' attention. She just never meant for it to get that far.

>> I could have handled him.

>> I'm sure you could have.

It's not meant to be patronizing, but placating. It's not that Stiles thinks she can't take care of herself, because she can. He knows she can. But she shouldn't have had to worry about it at all.

>> I'm sorry it cut your night short.

It takes her a long moment to be able to send that. Because really, she's not sorry at all. Not about _that_ anyway. About how he handled it? Yes. About pulling him away from that bitch? That was the plan all along.

>> You really don't need to apologize to me for anything.

When he'd seen what was happening, he'd felt like the world's biggest asshole and failure of a friend, and had spent the night in Lydia's room making sure she was really okay until he was certain she wasn't going to stop breathing or be kidnapped.

>> How are you feeling? Need anything? Are you drinking plenty of water?

And she was glad when he ended up in her room with her. These days, having his undivided attention again just made her happy. Which is why she was not happy to find him gone when she woke up this morning.

>> Why did you leave?

>> Well I had to leave to get the Reese's, and also I really needed a shower.

And ice for his knuckles, and a couple of aspirin.

Yeah, she only found the Reese's because she forced herself to get up and go take a shower, too. Which did help her feel more human.

>> Are you coming back?

>> Yeah, I'm walking back now. Unless you don't want me to come back?

And he figures that's a strong possibility considering how badly he'd screwed up the night before.

>> I'd prefer it if you stayed here for a few days, actually.

She's not entirely sure there won't be retaliation.

That catches him off guard and he falters in his footsteps momentarily.

>> Are you sure you're okay?

>> I'm fine. But I'm starting to question if you even realize whose face you punched last night.

And just how serious Stanford takes its football team.

>> We weren't on campus so I don't think it actually matters?

Aka, he has no clue whose face he punched in cause he gives exactly zero fucks about football.

>> Stiles.

She's sighing. And she’s wondering if he can you hear her sighing and rubbing her face in the long pause between texts. He’s definitely making her headache worse.

>> Star quarterback for our school's team. In case you don't know what that means, he's basically the star of the team. How do you not know who he is?

>> Oh.

He knows what a quarterback is, he just...doesn't really care. Football isn't his game. Never has been. Baseball? Hell yes. Lacrosse? Hell yes. Football? No thanks.

>> Because...I don't care?

>> Ninety percent of the school does. They care a lot.

And she's assuming that aside from whatever bitter nerds that hate the team that will cheer him on when they hear about this, most of the student body will hate Stiles for it.

He blows out a breath, shrugging a little at that and pressing his lips together as he walks down the street toward her dorm.

>> Guess it's a good thing I'm not used to being the popular sort then, right?

She is. And she knows it's gonna affect her too. But she's not gonna think about that just yet.

>> You're used to having all your limbs being fully functional. That might change.

He scoffs. He dealt with Jackson for years. He's not worried.

>> I've literally faced down pissed off alpha werewolves, a kanima, a psychopath with a gun, the nogitsune, and Theo Raeken. I think I can handle a football player. 

>> You're an idiot.

And that's all he's getting until he walks through that door. She's not having this discussion over text. She's not counting him all the ways in which he's an idiot or why dealing with a human is very much different than anything he just listed.

 

* * * 

 

Stiles makes his way back to Lydia's dorm without responding to her last text that he's an idiot. He already knows he is, but not for the reasons she thinks. He nods at a couple of sort of familiar students he's seen around before and heads down the hall to Lydia's room, knocking quietly because he has a feeling she's already suffering a raging headache without adding to it.

“It's me.”

“I know.” She doesn't bother getting up. She's back in bed, although she has changed into leggings and a long blouse and her hair is still wet from the shower. With a glare at the door, she takes a bite of a Reeses then sips on her water. She should probably have real food sometime soon, but that will require a lot more effort than she's willing to put into right now.

When the door doesn't open it, he hesitates a little and then opens the door, stepping inside. “How're you feeling?” He moves to set the bag he's carrying down on her desk.

“I'll live. You?” Mostly she just means physically, because the rest of it is a much longer discussion.

“I'll also live.” He pulls a bottle of water from the bag and moves over to her bed, perching on the edge of it and handing it out to her wordlessly.

She eyes him for a moment before leaning back against her pillows and taking the water bottle from him. “Did you get hurt?”

“Nothing I won't recover from in a few days.” He flexes his fingers unconsciously, shrugging. He's not worried about it. It isn't the first time he's had bruised knuckles.

She notices. Because she's Lydia and these days, there's very little she doesn't notice about Stiles. She gives him a look and sits up, then reaches out for his arm so she can pull his hand closer. “What the hell were you _thinking_?”

“Mostly that some overeager douchebag was trying to drag my very inebriated friend out of a party for reasons I'd rather not think about because they make me want to go finish what I started.” He lets her tug his hand closer so she can inspect and see that it's not that bad. No broken bones, just some cuts and bruising. Could've been a lot worse.

She throws him a glare then turns to examine his hand. Because she can't remember very clearly what McCoy was saying or suggesting by the time Stiles approached them. She does remember approaching him first. And she knows exactly why she did it. And no, it didn't include any plans to go back to his dorm at all, but--

“I went to talk to him.” She tells Stiles firmly, then lifts her eyes over to his face. Because she's an idiot and she's looking for a reaction even though her _friend_ here was all over some other girl just a few hours ago the previous night. And that was the problem to begin with. _Her_ problem, clearly. Not his.

He ignores the glare, pressing his lips together. Whether Lydia had gone to the guy or vice versa didn't matter. She'd been drunk, and the guy was trying to get her alone and that spelled trouble in every single book ever.

“Kind of irrelevant to what was happening.” And maybe there's a flicker of annoyance, a bristling beneath his skin at her admission because he _doesn't_ like it.

Again, she notices the annoyance. But it's so brief that even though her heart skips a beat, she can't be entirely sure it's not just wishful thinking on her part. And even if it is there, he's probably just concerned for her safety. Like he was the previous night. And what the hell else is she expecting, anyway?

Lydia sighs and shoves his hand away, if it hurts some, then maybe it was intended. She's so frustrated with him at this point. At least half of the time. The other half, she just doesn't want him more than two feet away from her because she'd miss his stupid arguments and his idiot face in general. “Hardly irrelevant if I wasn't in any actual danger.”

He scoffs even as he pulls his hand away from her and rises to his feet, starting to pace the floor. “Yeah, sure, Lydia. No danger at all.”

“What do you _want_ from me, Stiles?” She demands a moment later, even though she's not sure what she's demanding at all. But she does sit up, despite the fact that her head is pounding.

“It was a party. I was socializing. You seem to understand the concept perfectly fine.” And yes, that sounds exactly like the accusation that it is.

He turns to look at her in disbelief. “To be safe? To not be in danger, or get hurt, or kidnapped or worse? I don't think I'm asking too much here.”

He folds his arms across his chest, staring at her at that comment. “Okay this isn't about me.”

“Then what is this about, Stiles?” She pushes herself on her feet, eyebrows arching and her jaw clenching at his comment.

“Because last _I_ checked, you were at the very same party as I was. And considering two things: 1) there aren't supernatural creatures around to hurt either of us, and 2) if anyone was any real danger, I would be the first to know. I do believe that comment you just made was more than a little _sexist_ and _offensive_. Or can you actually give me a good reason why it'd be okay for you to be at the party, _talking to strangers_ , but not for me to be doing the _exact same thing_?”

“Yeah, because the supernatural is clearly the only dangers in life. Humans aren't dangerous at all, especially not quarterbacks three times your size who are completely sober when you aren't. Excuse me for trying to be a good friend by watching out for you.”

He waves his hand toward the bag on her desk. “There's soup and crackers and 7UP and some other stuff in there.” He's shaking his head and turning toward the door.

“You're both a shitty friend and a complete idiot if you don't get how it affects _you_!”

She calls out after him. And it doesn't help that she's getting angrier and her stomach is turning and she's managed to not get sick until now but this just might be about to change. “You keep walking around out there and your knuckles aren't gonna be the only things that end up bruised!”

His jaw tightens at her words. “Well then I guess you can say _I told you so_ when I get my ass kicked by the football team and then you can ride off into the sunset with the douchebag quarterback like you apparently want.” He yanks the door open.

“Yes. That's _exactly_ what I want when I'm telling you to stay in here so it doesn't happen!” She yells back at him, taking a deep breath to try and settle her stomach at least for a little longer.

“But you obviously can't wait to get out of here and pick up your unfinished business from last night you'd rather be _doing_ , so go ahead!”

“What unfinished business!?” He whirls to face her, anger flashing across his face.

“My unfinished business is _here_ like it _always_ is!”

And her stomach is suddenly turning for entirely different reasons. ”You're the one leaving, Stiles! I want you to stay here where I know you're _safe_ , but like always, you never care about your own safety. You never let anyone else take care of you for a change, and you _obviously_ didn't even listen to a single word I said!” The anger is still very much there, but also hurt.

He's momentarily thrown by her words and he shakes his head. “What is it _you_ want from _me_? Because two seconds ago you were pissed and reading me the riot act for intervening with that guy last night. Now you want me to stay here even though you're pissed at me for getting involved at all?”

Lydia groans loudly and rubs a hand over her face in frustration. “How can you be such a complete _idiot_ sometimes?”

She glares at him, shaking her head. “I'm not pissed at you for getting involved. I'm pissed at you for not _listening_ to me when I've been _telling you_ that this has consequences for you!”

He glares back at her for a moment, then reaches out and shuts the door again, rubbing a hand over his neck, because he's not sure what to make of what she's saying. “I'm listening, but what exactly do you want me to do about it now? What's done is done. I can't go back and undo it, and I wouldn't even if I could.”

“I _told_ you!” She sighs and sits back down on her bed when he finally closes the door again. Most people before Stiles just-- did whatever she wanted them to. He is just so goddamn difficult.

“Just stay here. Spring break is coming, hopefully people will have forgotten all about this by the time we get back to campus.”

“Yeah, I'm sure your roommate will love having an extra body hanging around for the next four days.” He moves to sit in the desk chair, leaning his elbows on his knees and gazing at her for a moment.

“Plus if they're that vindictive, me being here is going to put _you_ in jeopardy.” 

“She's already home. Her dad got her out a week early because he wanted her to go to Switzerland.” She shrugs a shoulder, reaching for her water bottle.

“And need I remind you that you only got involved because of _me_?”

“Oh.” That actually catches him off guard. He glances around the room for a moment, considering. Last night had been the first time he'd spent the night in awhile, and even though she'd been kind of miserable, he couldn't help but realize how much he'd missed spending time alone with her just the two of them. Usually these days it was all big crowds and parties, sometimes small study groups. “Yeah, well, I'd do it again.”

“You already did it once.” And after taking a sip of her water, she takes a deep breath and makes her way over to the table and starts pulling things from the bag he brought over.

This was never her plan at all, obviously, but she's glad he's stubbornly agreeing to stay there. For his safety, yes. But also because at least it'll mean spending some more time with him before they drive back home, back to their old normal.

Not that their new normal is much better. She really thought it was going to be. Just the two of them out here on their own. But apparently they fight just as much, if not even more often now that they're spending more time together. And still, it doesn't make her want to be away from him.

He shrugs a little, watching her as she starts pulling things out of the bag. After a moment, he rises to his feet and begins to slowly pace the room, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, seriously. How are you feeling?”

She pauses and glances over her shoulder at him, sighing deeply as she pulls open a package of the crackers. “Hungover. Headache, nauseated. You?”

He watches her intently, grimacing at her words. “There's advil in there, too.” He hesitates a second, moving up to stand behind her and resting a hand on her shoulder, thumb brushing lightly over the back of her neck. “I'm all right.”

She leans back into his touch almost instantly. And yes, she does relax a little. She's fairly sure it's impossible, but she does feel less nauseated, too. “Thank you.”

After a moment, she turns her head to look at him. “Are you not hungover at all?”

He takes a deep breath when she leans back into him. He doesn't move his hand except to continue the motion with his thumb on her neck, letting it massage her muscles a little more firmly. But he almost smiles at her words when he meets her eyes. “I only had a couple drinks.” A couple of beers. Nothing too crazy. It's always the harder stuff that gets to him.

“So did I.” She sighs softly, rolling her neck and dropping her shoulders before she takes a bite of her cracker.

The problem was, she hadn't been planning on drinking. But then, she saw Stiles with that girl and she changed her mind. And it wasn't a gentle sipping, no. Bottom's up in a few seconds and lack of food? Yeah, bad life choices. But she doesn't need to tell him that. “Are you hungry?”

He watches her as she rolls her neck, expression concerned. “Not really. Never really been a breakfast person. I mean, except on the occasional Sunday morning when I'd be over at Scott's and Melissa would make pancakes, but there's always an exception, right?”

He gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze before reluctantly dropping his hand away. “You know, if...something's wrong, you can talk to me, right?”

“I didn't realize what time it was.” Lydia lets out a breath when he pulls his hand away, then reaches for a can of soda -- which she doesn't normally drink, but she knows the carbonation will help settle her stomach -- before moving to sit down on her bed.

She's not entirely sure what he's fishing for, and part of her wants to talk to him about-- this. Them. Or, at least this part of them, she's just not sure she should. “What makes you say that?”

He hesitantly sits down in her desk chair, moving it so he's facing her as she sits on the bed. “I don't know. Just -- a gut feeling. I guess my Lydia senses are tingling?”

She gives him a tiny smile in response but it fades quickly. And then she shrugs a shoulder as she hesitates for a moment. 

“Just-- wanna make sure no one is coming after you and-- the whole arguing thing is kinda exhausting.” She looks down at the can in her hands before sipping. Hoping he knows she means more than just this time around.

He holds his breath for a moment at her response. Then he scoots the chair forward, reaching out and taking her hand in his, linking their fingers together.

“Hey. I'm gonna be fine. Okay? Like you said, I'll just hang out with you til Spring Break, and by the time we come back, it'll have all blown over.” Hopefully.

“We have been arguing a lot, haven't we?” He drops his gaze, staring at their hands for a moment.

“You can keep saying that, but I do get to worry about you too.” And that's one of the most infuriating things about him. His inability to worry about himself. And let others worry about him.

With a soft sigh, she curls her fingers around his, then shrugs a shoulder. “I guess it was worse back home? But yeah.”

Despite himself, his mouth tugs upwards in a tiny smile at her words. He alternately doesn't want her to worry about him but appreciates that she does anyway. “I don't know. I think it was...less frequent back home because we were in a constant state of terror with our lives always in some kind of supernatural danger.”

Sure they'd bickered from time to time, but a lot of the time it was playful. They bantered because she was a genius and he was witty and they needed to blow off some steam. It had never, on his part, at least, been an act of cruelty toward her. Others, sure. But not Lydia.

“I think it was less frequent also because for a while there, we barely even saw each other.” And as she says that, her fingers tighten around his hands and she gives him a sad smile. Because she doesn't blame him for him, she distanced herself on purpose too -- but she definitely doesn't want it to happen again.

“I don't get why it's been like this lately.” Because on her part, it's not on purpose, either. There's bickering. There's discussing things because he's one of the few people who can get her on an intellectual level. And there's arguing because sometimes he just gets on her nerves. But she'd never say something harmful or downright mean to him on purpose. Not like she has to pretty much every other guy in her life before him. Because unlike all of them, she actually respects Stiles. And she feels respected by him too.

And just like that, all the air kind of leaves his lungs because suddenly he's thrust months back in the past; first, as memories of the Nogitsune flash through his mind, and then as memories of his relationship with Malia follow suit. He drops his gaze, pressing his lips together.

She wasn't wrong. She rarely was. Malia had barely been affected by anything Nogitsune-related. It had been so easy to cling to her because she needed him, needed his help figuring out how to be a human after having been a coyote for so long. It had been easy to cling to her because she didn't know him before the Nogitsune, didn't know how much that experience had changed him. He'd needed to hide from the people who would know, who would recognize the differences, and focusing so much time and attention on Malia had allowed him to do just that.

He exhales, squeezes her hand lightly and resists the urge to pull away. On an instinctual level, he wants to, the same way he always does when anything reminds him of that time. But he doesn't do it because he doesn't want to hurt her feelings. He just doesn't know how to put it all into words, to explain that time period. “Yeah. Yeah, me either, I guess.”

But she notices the shift in him, her fingers tightening around his hand when she notices. There's just a lot of guilt there suddenly and yes, she's seen this look on his face a lot before. And she hates it. Because she knows what it usually means. And she wishes she could take it away. “What is it, Stiles?” Because even though he's saying he doesn't get it either, something is obviously up.

“We've never really talked about it.” [He doesn't look at her, does not want to make eye contact right now. Time has passed, but he's never sure enough time will have passed to talk about the Nogitsune and all its fallout without him wanting to crawl into bed and burrow under blankets.

“Aiden.” His voice drops to barely a whisper.

She cocks her head to the side a little, trying to catch his eye. And then he says his name and her chest tightens with guilt of her own.

It's her turn to _almost_ let go of Stiles' hand. Because she feels like maybe, if she had been able to push Aiden away enough, if he hadn't been trying so hard to get her attention while she was focusing on the pack, he'd have just left. And he'd still be alive.

“Why do you wanna talk about-- _Aiden_?” She asks quietly.

“I don't.” At all. Ever. With anyone. Especially Lydia. He draws in a breath, shifting in the chair but not letting go of her hand. “It's just -- part of the stuff from back home. When we weren't really...around each other.”

She watches him for a moment, taking a deep breath as she considers her next words carefully, shifting so she can set the soda can on her bedside table before she lifts her free hand to his arm. “Stiles-- if, you ever wonder if I blamed you for what happened to him. I haven't. I couldn't. I would never blame you. For him, or anything else that happened then. Ever.”

“I know.” He exhales, grip tightening just a little on her hand for a moment. “I know you don't.” And maybe that was part of the problem. No one blamed him but him.

She purses her lips together and nods slightly, keeping her eyes on him. It feels like such a long time, but she can see the pain and the guilt on his face. With a deep breath, she rubs her hand gently over his arm, remaining quiet for a moment longer before adding quietly: “Talk to me.”

Sometimes it feels like an eternity ago. Other times it feels like yesterday. “You were right, before. When you said I was a shitty friend. I am.” 

He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “It's why I pushed you and Scott and Allison away so much last year and spent so much time with Malia instead.”

Her chest clenches at that. She didn't mean to hurt him with that, she really didn't mean it at all, not in that one. He's one of her best friends. He knows her better than Allison does at this point. He pays so much attention to her most of the time. Just not always the way she wishes he would but… “What I meant was, you're always trying to take care of me. You never let me take care of you. I was just frustrated, Stiles.”

“But--” She doesn't want to cut him off when he's finally opening up about all this. “What do you mean?”

He's never been good at letting anyone take care of him. Even his dad. He's always viewed it as his job to take care of the people he loves: his dad, Scott, Lydia. It's never really occurred to him that it might frustrate them that he doesn't really allow room for reciprocation. He worries his bottom lip with his teeth. “I mean...I wasn't there for you. For any of you. I should have been.”

“You had a lot to deal with yourself, Stiles. She probably made it easier on you, helped you get your mind off things. I get that. I don't blame you for that, either.” Lydia looks down as she purses her lips together.

“I'm glad you had her then.” And she's glad he's moved on from her since, because Stiles deserves a lot better. “But-- I get it. It's pretty much the exact same thing I did with Aiden after-- that whole mess with Peter and Jackson.”

She's giving him an out, and he kind of hates it. He doesn't want an out. He doesn't want to be excused. Doesn't want to be forgiven. 

“You didn't like her.” It isn't a question. He knows Lydia didn't -- and still doesn't -- like Malia. He gets it, even. Malia's very...rough around the edges, to say the least.

“I don't have a problem with her, personally.” She hesitates for a second, glancing at him for a moment before looking back down. 

“I just think you deserve more than what she had to offer you.” Like an actual intellectual conversation and not treating him like he's her inferior, weaker beta, for example. “You still blame yourself, though, don't you? Even now.”

“Maybe.” He's not really sure he agrees with that assessment. Malia had been pretty aggressive in a lot of ways, but he hadn't exactly been complaining. Not even a few times he maybe should have. But that's something he probably won't ever talk about with anyone.

“I can't not. It's too -- vivid in my mind.” He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. To this day the nightmares about the things he'd done while possessed haunt him. And more vividly than any other nightmares or dreams he ever has. “Sometimes it's like it just happened.”

“Maybe you should talk to someone, Stiles. I mean--” She pauses, wincing a little as she shakes her head. and shifts on the bed, inching forward.

“I know you can't talk to a therapist but Deaton and Morrell might be able to help and, if they can, maybe I can research something about the best ways for you to process this. And we can work on it together.”

He grimaces at the mention of both names, then shakes his head. “I'm not sure Deaton's really qualified for that and Morrell…” He shrugs. “Last time I saw her was at Eichen House. 

And she'd told him she'd kill him if she had to. Sometimes he wishes she had. Right after everything, he'd really wished for that. For weeks. Months. He doesn't usually wish for that anymore, so...progress? “I don't know. I think maybe I just need to leave it where it is, you know? Not dredge up all the old crap.”

Especially not for her or Scott or Allison. Jesus. Allison had almost died because of him, too. He reluctantly pulls his hand away from hers, twisting his fingers together unconsciously. “I guess I just thought maybe I should tell you why I pulled away after. And say I'm sorry.”

She doesn't think that's how it'll work. She thinks he'll need to work through this eventually. But when he pulls his hand away from hers, her stomach drops and she decides against pushing this on him right now. She'll talk to Scott when they go home.

But then he tells her he had to tell her why he pulled away and she holds her breath. Because she can't tell him. She knows why she pulled away after a while. She couldn't stand watching him and Malia together. It _hurt_ , and she missed him so much. But he did look healthier. And happier than he had for a long time and if she was doing him good, Lydia couldn't take that away from him. So she put up with Malia when she had to. And she put up her walls whenever she was around Stiles as much as possible. Because she couldn't just let herself hurt openly either. So she hid behind annoyance and sarcasm. And it worked.

It ruined what was left of their relationship, and she knows she's to blame -- possibly more than him -- for it. Which is why they're trying to pick up the pieces now. But still. She _can't_ tell him any of that. Not without making it worse.

“No apology necessary.” She answers quietly, clasping her own hands together as she looks down at her lap.

The look on her face says otherwise. The look on her face says his apology needs to be follow up with a lot of tangible gifts. Flowers, maybe. Jewelry? He feels his chest tighten as the look vanishes as quickly as it appeared and he worries his lower lip with his teeth. 

“Thanks.” His voice is quiet. After a moment, he's finally able to look up at her again even as the guilt twists in his chest the way he's been twisting his fingers. “How's your stomach? Did the crackers and soda help?”

It takes her a moment longer and a deep breath before she can lift her head to look at him again. When she does, she smiles a little, though as she nods. “Yeah. I think you also distracted me from being miserable so, thank you.”

He manages a smile when she does and he nods, reaching out instinctively and squeezing her shoulder gently. “Good. That's good.”

She leans into his touch just a little, keeping her eyes on his face this time. “Did you get any rest at all last night?”

He shakes his head a little, suppressing a yawn even as he does so. “No, I wanted to make sure you were okay.” That she didn't throw up in her sleep and choke to death, basically. “It's all right, though. I've done with less.”

Lydia gives him a look and shakes her head, shifting to get up from her bed. “You should lay down, rest for a while. I need to study and you're trapped in here anyway.”

A tiny smile tugs at his mouth at the look on her face. “You could probably use more rest, too. Drunken sleep isn't exactly restful sleep.”

“To be honest, I'm half expecting to faceplant into my book just a couple of pages in.” She is pretty exhausted still. And now that she's showered, ate something and she has Stiles there with her. Safe. She'll probably be able to sleep.

“Well, then it's kind of pointless, probably?” He squeezes her shoulder and hesitates a second before shifting so he's next to her on the edge of the bed instead of in the chair, and he glances at her sideways. “Sleep first, then study?”

She purses her lips together as she looks over at him. She was kind of afraid he was going to suggest taking the empty bed, and she was ready to tell him not to, but it does help a little when he doesn't even seem to consider it.

Because despite everything else, their arguments, their broken friendship, whatever feelings she might have for him, one thing is the absolute truth: she has never slept better than she has the nights she and Stiles just end up crashing with each other, for whatever reason. “Might be more productive.”

He gives her a wan smile, draping an arm around her shoulders and pressing a kiss to forehead without really thinking about it. “That's what I'm thinking.”

Lydia lifts a hand to his back as she leans into his side, relaxing almost immediately as she closes her eyes. Just for a second. “Okay.” She says eventually, pressing her face against his cheek for a second before pushing herself up, then reaching to adjust her pillows next to each other for them. “Definitely rest first.”

He relaxes at her easy agreement, and he kicks his shoes off before lying back on the bed, turning onto his side so he's facing her. His eyes already feel heavier than they did a moment ago and he watches as she lays down, too. “Lyds?”

She turns on her side toward him and shifts, getting comfortable after a second as she pulls the covers up and around them. “Yeah?”

“I don't wanna fight with you anymore. Not -- the for real stuff. The banter's okay, though.” He lets out a breath, gazing at her intently.

“I like the banter.” She smiles a little, watching him for a moment before reaching for his hand and wrapping her fingers around his again.

“But I don't wanna fight with you either. I talk to you more than I talk to anyone else these days and I hate it when things aren't okay.” She misses him. She misses him _a lot_.

He nods a little, relaxing more as she takes his hand in hers. Then he shifts a little closer to her, so their heads are resting on the same pillow, faces inches apart. With anyone else it would probably feel incredibly invasive, but with Lydia it doesn't bother him. On the contrary, the close proximity makes him feel better. More grounded. “Me too.”

She enjoys the closeness too. It helps her feel-- connected to him. It makes her feel less alone and less lonely. But she also wants to lean in closer and press her forehead to his. She doesn't, though. Instead, she pulls his hand a little higher and presses a kiss to the back of it. “We need to stop ourselves, if it starts. Or just-- fix it instead of walking away, like we did today.”

He holds his breath when she kisses his hand, because it's unexpected. Not unwelcome, but not anticipated. His heart skips a couple of beats in his chest as he gazes at her, expression soft. Warm. It's he who moves closer again, who leans his forehead against hers because he wants to even as his fingers slip through hers and curl around them.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” He'd been the one about to storm out. He brushes his thumb over hers and lets his eyes close. “No more walking away.”

Her face softens at the loon on his face. She smiles just a little as she watches him shifting closer. Doing exactly what she wanted to. And then she can't help but brush her nose against his just a little when she shifts closer to him too, her fingers brushing the back of his hand too.

She doesn't close her eyes, though. Just watches him as he relaxes, because it's so unusual to see Stiles like this. And she wants to watch him just a little longer before she falls asleep too. “Just sticking together.” She whispers quietly in agreement. “Rest, Stiles.”

Sticking together sounded nice. A throwback to a time in high school before the world spiraled out from beneath them. His breath hitches when she brushes her nose against his and he swallows hard, nodding wordlessly in agreement. “You too, okay?”

“I am.” She purses her lips together, stilling when he seems to tense. But when she feels him relaxing again, she does too. Her eyelids starting to get heavy, but she keeps her eyes on him just for a moment longer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Christmas Stydia fluff for the holidays! Hope everyone has a good holiday, regardless of what you celebrate. :)

Being back in Beacon Hills is stressful enough for obvious reasons. You know, like the ridiculously high death count. The overwhelming amount of Supernatural trouble. Dealing with her mother on a daily basis again… 

But Lydia has been dreading Christmas break even more for two reasons: Malia will be around. And Jackson will be flying in. 

Her relationship with Stiles grew a lot stronger in the past couple of months since they left for Stanford together. They’ve been hanging out and watching out for each other a lot more. But it’s far from the way things used to be still. 

There’s a lot of conflict. Their usual bantering gets out of hand sometimes. And every time there’s a party where they both end up to go, she wants to scream. Mostly because she’s fairly sure she could kill whatever girl Stiles is flirting with/leaving with with her bare hands. But instead she forces herself to look the other way and head back to her dorm when he’s not looking. 

Because somehow, she doesn’t think random bouts of jealousy will help them rekindle their friendship further. 

She also doesn’t think coming home and having him be around his ex again will help at all. But she doesn’t have a choice in the matter. 

Which is mostly _why_ she agreed to meet up with Jackson. So she would have something to focus on. So she would have something to distract herself with instead of sitting at home and either being tortured by her mother. Or watching Allison and Scott dance around each other. Or, worse of all, obsessing about the fact that Stiles is probably somewhere with Malia. 

She’s never been this person. Sure, she’s been an insecure mess before. But not like this. She’s never been so invested in someone and with zero clue what to do about it. She’s always just flirted and usually got what she wanted -- no matter how bad it might have been for her. But in the past few months, she’s been having a hard time figuring out how to deal with any of this.

Her meeting with Jackson went just about as well as she’d expected. She went to his house, he was drunk and was somewhere between a pathetic and pitiful mess. And a complete asshole. Which means, she knows he’s not doing as well as his facebook updates made it seem. And that is also unsurprising. Of course, she tried to help him, because she can’t _not_ try to help Jackson. Regardless how long it’s been and how over him she is. And he immediately thought it meant she was trying to sleep with him. 

By the time she left his house, she wanted to scream too. But mostly in frustration this time. 

So she texted Allison and of course, finished messing everything up. Because she mistexted _Stiles_ instead. With nothing short of:

 _> > I thought we were fine until he actually said the words "do you want to pet the lizard?" with a straight face as he unzipped his pants._

And now she’s headed to meet up with him in what she’s expecting will be the most awkward dinner the two of them have ever shared. 

Stiles arrives at the diner a few minutes early, feeling more anxious and worried than he has in awhile. Things at Stanford have, by far and large, been more low key than his high school years. More normal and less supernatural. Sure, his roommate had turned out to be some kind of evil warlock who’d tried to kill him, but it turned out okay. 

Being back in Beacon Hills is a chilling reminder of how not normal his life really is. He’d seen Malia for approximately 2.3 seconds when she’d climbed through his window, told him she wasn’t sticking around, and left within an hour. She hadn’t changed much, overall, considering the claw marks he was sporting on his back. 

He rubs a hand over his face as he waits by the door in the lobby, looking around for Lydia until he spots her familiar strawberry blonde hair approaching. He doesn’t want to think about the fact that Jackson is back in town, that he’s trying to convince her to transfer to Oxford. He doesn’t want to consider the possibility that she might just be considering the possibility. There’s something about first love that never really lets go of a person. 

He’d know. 

He holds his breath and pushes the door open as she gets closer, holding it for her so she can step inside. “Hey.” 

“Hi.” She arches her eyebrows a little, looking up at him for a moment before stepping inside the restaurant. Their text exchange after her mistake hadn’t been the most friendly one. She knows she hasn’t been on her best behavior -- trying to get a reaction out of him by telling him that Jackson was trying to convince her to transfer to England. 

It hadn’t been a lie, exactly. He did say something like ‘Why Stanford? Couldn’t you be at like Harvard or Oxford? Why are you going _there_?’ But he didn’t exactly beg her to drop everything and come to England with him, either.

Stiles presses his lips together, following her back inside the diner and letting the door close behind him. He starts to instinctively place his hand at the small of her back to guide her to a booth, but pulls back at the last second. “Hungry?” he asks, trying to keep the conversation relatively light, and in neutral territory. 

No. She’s really not. She’s anxious and upset and wishing Christmas break would hurry up and end so they could head back to school and away from everything and everyone else. But she nods as she slides into one side of the booth, glancing at him for a second before reaching for the menu. “A little. You?”

“Yeah, a little.” Except not. At all. He’d been getting kind of hungry before he’d gotten her texts about Jackson, and then he’d promptly lost his appetite. He slides into the booth across from her and picks up the other menu, pretending to be interested in it while he’s really studying her beneath his eyelashes, trying to see if she’s really okay. 

Lydia just stares at the menu blankly for a moment. Nothing really sounds great and she’s somewhere between wanting to go home and be on her own and not wanting to go anywhere without him. Both of those feelings are not normal for her, so whatever the outcome, she can’t help but feel uncomfortable in her own skin. 

With a soft sigh, she closes the menu and looks over at him, frowning a little because she’s fairly sure he was staring. “Do you know what you want?”

“Always,” he responds automatically. He blinks a couple times, shaking himself out of his own head and glancing at the menu. “I’m just going with a burger and fries and a milkshake.” He shrugs a little, trying to ignore the heavy double meaning of his initial response. “You?” 

She frowns a little more, then nods when he goes on. “Trying to decide between soup or pancakes.” And she knows one of those options is better for her than the other. Warm soup will definitely make her feel a lot better than a ton of sugar and carbs -- which she’s not used to having this late at night, anyway. But she’s not sure she wants to go with the better option right now.

Stiles arches his eyebrows a little, glancing over at her again. “That’s sorta one extreme to the other, isn’t it?” he jokes. “I mean, on the one hand you have soup, which is warm and comforting and easy to digest but kind of boring...and then you have pancakes which are chalk full of everything unhealthy under the sun but tastes awesome at the time.” 

“Soup isn’t boring.” She gives him a look, shaking her head. “Their tomato soup with grilled cheese is really good. And so is their broccoli cheese soup. You just have to look at it the right way.” She opens the menu again to look at it. “Pancakes will probably just make me hate myself later, anyway.”

He almost smiles at her defense of soup, shaking his head and glancing down at the menu again, too. “Tomato soup and grilled cheese, huh? Maybe that doesn’t sound so bad.” He closes his menu and slides it to the edge of the table. 

Lydia arches her eyebrows in surprise this time. “You’re actually gonna go with soup instead of a burger and a milkshake?” 

“I can have a burger and shake anytime at Stanford,” he says with a shrug. And he frequently does. Good thing he has a very high metabolism. Then again, he does take a lot of Adderall and that helps. “What about you, Lyds? What’s it gonna be? Soup or pancakes?” 

“Soup,” she tells him, a little more certain this time. “I guess it’s what I really wanted, anyway.”

Stiles holds her gaze, repressing the urge he has to reach out and cover her hand with his on the table even as he gives her a tiny smile. Before he has a chance to say anything, the waitress stops by their table. 

“You two ready to order?” 

* * *

Dinner was a lot more comfortable than she’d expected. Which shouldn’t surprise her. When it’s just the two of them, usually they’re more relaxed and at ease than when it’s not. Which is just one of the many things she missed so much about him when they were barely talking. 

As they head for the door of the diner, though, she tenses as pulls her coat tightly around her. “Are you heading back home?”

He glances at her sideways and drapes his arm around her shoulders before he has time to second guess his instincts, tugging her close to his side to help her warm up. “I don’t know. My dad’s working the third shift tonight and going home to an empty house seems like a depressing plan on the eve before Christmas Eve, you know?” 

Her first instinct is to turn into him and wrap her arms around him. Instead, she just leans against his side so he knows the gesture isn’t unwelcomed, but pushes her hands deeper into her coat’s pockets. “Maybe, if you live with your dad. My mother will probably try to socialize with me if I go home and tomorrow will be bad enough as is. I’d rather have the empty house.” 

“Well then clearly, we are once again the solution to one another’s problems. You should come crash at mine tonight, thus avoiding horrible socializing attempts by your mom, and curing my depression due to holiday loneliness,” he says cheerfully. 

Her face softens into a smile and she shrugs a shoulder. “I don’t know about crashing there. But I can keep you company for a while. Eventually, I’ll have to face the painful Christmas traditions back home.”

“Ah, but tomorrow is another day, my friend,” he reminds her, squeezing her gently. 

“Yes, it is.” She arches her eyebrows and turns her face toward him. “Am I the only one looking forward to getting out of here as fast as possible? I mean, I’m glad we get to see Allison and Scott, but--” They’re mostly spending time with each other, anyway.

“You’re definitely not the only one,” Stiles admits, glancing down at her. “I miss them and my dad all the time, but...I don’t know. Being back here sorta feels weird now. I feel like a guest in my house, which is weird because I’ve lived there all but like, three months of my entire life.” 

“Yeah, exactly.” She looks away and takes a deep breath. Because their plan is to move back here after they all graduate, but right now, she’s not so sure that’s what she wants. “And it just feels like nothing here has changed.”

“Because it hasn’t. Not really.” He can feel the pull of the Nemeton, and has ever since he stepped foot back in Beacon County. It’s like a creepy reminder of everything that happened just lingering beneath his skin. Last night his nightmares had come back in full force and he rubs his free hand over his face. “Apparently Liam and the others are doing okay holding the fort down, though.” 

“They are,” she agrees quietly. But now her eyes are on his face again and before she can think about it, she’s lifting her hand over to his back, cocking her head. “Are _you_ okay?”

He draws in a breath and lets it out slowly, managing not to flinch when she rests her hand on his back. “Yeah, just looking forward to being out of Beacon Hills again. I guess I hadn’t realized how much this place was affecting me until we got away, you know?” 

His reaction isn’t any more concerning than his words, though. “Affecting you how?”

Stiles glances down at her again. “Nightmares. The Nemeton.” He motions toward the west, where the woods are, knowing she’ll know exactly what he’s saying without having to really explain it. “Do you feel it?” 

Her stomach clenches at that, but she nods as she looks away. “Yeah. I try to block it out, but-- yes. I do.” There’s something so heavy about being here that probably isn’t helping how on edge she’s been feeling in general.

“So in short...you’re definitely not the only one looking forward to getting the hell out of dodge again,” he tells her, voice dropping as he leads her toward his house. He’s quiet for a moment. “You’re not...considering it, are you? Oxford?” 

And she should have guessed he would be feeling it, too. This tether thing, she still doesn’t know what it did to them back then, during the ritual. But she still feels like it’s around. She does pause at his question, though. “What?”  
“Oxford,” he echoes, chewing the inside of his cheek. “You said Jackson asked you to transfer there. Are you uh -- thinking about it?” He’s unaware of how vulnerable he sounds at the moment, how easily he’s slipped back into being the same uncertain boy who’d chased after Lydia all through junior high and most of high school. 

Her chest clenches painfully at that. Because him asking her that makes her feel suddenly like she’s as disconnected from him and the pack as she was after the Nogitsune broke all of them. “You really think I would?” Does he think she’d abandon him and the pack like that? Is that how he sees her?

“I hope not,” he says without hesitation. “But...I do know that whole...power of first love thing is pretty damn overwhelming.” Probably even harder when you’re suddenly face to face with the person you love and haven’t seen for such a long time. 

She pulls away from him completely at that, crossing her arms over her chest because her heart feels so tight, she almost feels like she needs to curl into herself to stop it from hurting. “I’m not in love with Jackson, Stiles.” And maybe she’s getting a reaction from him like she wanted. But she didn’t want _this_. “And I thought you knew I’m not that person anymore.” 

Stiles blinks a couple of times and looks over at her, a hint of confusion on his face. “I didn’t say you were, Lydia.” On either front. “I’m just -- saying that first love is powerful even if -- you know, it didn’t work for whatever reason or didn’t last or couldn’t or...you know, was one sided.” Now he’s rambling. Great. That’s wonderful. He hates Beacon Hills so much right now. 

He is rambling and she’s trying to pick up on what he’s saying. But all she hears is that first love is powerful, even if it didn’t work. And maybe if he’s thinking _she_ might make a decision like that, he’s projecting. Her jaw clenches a little. “Is this about Malia?”

Well, that throws him off guard and he stops walking entirely, eyes wider now. “W-what?” 

“Did you two talk? Is this why you’re talking to me about not wanting to go back to Stanford? To go somewhere else?” Did something change for him?

“No! I mean, yeah, we talked --” Sort of. “-- but you said in your text that he wanted you to transfer and I don’t know, it sounded like you were thinking about it and I guess I just…” He shrugs, shoulders dropping. “I don’t know. I guess I wanted to know where your head was on that considering you got into every Ivy League school on the planet Earth and you don’t always seem like you’re enjoying Stanford that much?” 

“Maybe I’m not enjoying it as much as _you are_.” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop herself. Her eyes are tearing up and she wants to punch him a little. Of course she’s not enjoying every aspect of college life like the rest of the pack. But she’s already had this conversation with Allison a thousand times. She’s not going to repeat it with him. She’s not going to make demands about his behavior when she really has no right to say anything.

“You know what, Stiles? I better get home.” She says before he has a chance to respond. There’s only so much humiliation she needs to put herself through in one day.

She doesn’t have to punch him. He feels like she did anyway. The fact that there are tears in her eyes only makes it that much worse. “Whoa, wait a second.” He reaches out and grasps her arm in a firm hold. “Okay, I don’t even know what the hell just happened here.” 

She looks down at his hand on her arm and takes a deep breath as she lifts her head to stare at him. “What do you _think_ happened?” 

His expression is baffled and after a second he just shakes his head. “Well it feels like you just got super pissed and defensive because I asked a question based on something you told me,” he answers, reluctantly letting go of her arm. 

“You’re asking me if I would just up and leave, Stiles! After everything we talked about…” she shakes her head, jaw clenching. “I thought you knew me better than that.” 

“And you’re the one who made it sound like you were thinking about it!” he points out, throwing his hands up. 

“ _How_ did I make it sound like I was thinking about it?” She pulls her phone from her purse and scrolls back through their conversation, then holds the phone out to him as she echoes the words on the screen: “ All I said was ‘He's going back to London in a couple of days, anyway. Besides, he was just trying to convince me to transfer to Oxford.’ How does that imply I’m thinking about it?!”

He opens his mouth to retort, then closes it, huffing and folding his arms across his chest. He looks away from her, jaw tight as he tries to come up with words to explain why his mind had gone there. “Look, don’t you sometimes just -- jump to a conclusion because usually the worst things that can happen generally _do_ happen?” 

Lydia drops her phone back inside her purse and shakes her head. “No. I try to be a lot more logical when it comes to people I _know_.” Try being the keyword. And maybe most things about Stiles haven’t been super logical lately, but she has no argument otherwise.

Stiles winces at that and rubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, well, no one’s ever accused me of being logical.” 

She sighs and stares at him for a moment, then crosses her arms over her chest too. “I haven’t.” 

“Exactly. Name one person who has,” he points out. “I’m ridiculous and jump to horrible conclusions.” 

“Maybe you need to start making better choices,” she adds, arching her eyebrows.

He snorts at that. “My dad’s been saying the same thing for years,” he reminds her, letting his shoulders drop. He gazes at her for a minute. “I’m sorry. Okay? I wasn’t trying to insult you or upset you. Fear is an irrational thing, you know?” 

Yeah, she gets as much. So she sighs deeply and drops her arms, too. “I’m not leaving, Stiles.” 

Relief immediately flashes across his face and he nods, swallowing hard and looking down. “Good.” 

She stares at him for a moment, then nods a little. “Yeah.” She hesitates and looks over her shoulder. She doesn’t want to leave him by himself, since he asked her to come over. But she’s not sure she wants to go over either.

“So now that I’ve totally killed the mood, what do you say we just walk instead of going to my house?” he suggests. 

“Yeah, let’s go for a walk.” She glances at him, then starts walking again.

Stiles takes a deep breath and slides his hands into his jacket pockets, following behind her silently this time. 

She stops after a moment and glances at him. “Are you just gonna walk behind me?”

He offers her a tiny smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, but catches up so he falls into step beside her this time. “I am sorry.” 

Lydia sighs softly in response and nods. “I am, too.” She doesn’t wanna argue with him. And she knows the way she reacted is entirely her own fault. 

He hesitates, then reaches his hand out toward her wordlessly. 

She looks down at his hand for a second, then slides her hand into his, wrapping her fingers around his.

Stiles relaxes almost instantly, curling his fingers around hers, too, and offering her a soft smile as their eyes meet. Definitely better. 

***  
It was barely 7 on Christmas morning when Stiles climbed out of his jeep and made his way up the driveway of Lydia’s house, bag of gifts in hand. A Santa hat was draped on his head, a bright grin on his lips as he knocked. “Ho ho ho!” 

She thought she’d heard the jeep outside, and then she is fairly sure there is no way Stiles would actually be here, and at this hour. Except, one look out her window proves her wrong. 

Luckily, she’d already been up. She was in the process of finishing her hair and make up when she heard him. So it doesn’t take her long to wrap a coat around herself and make her way downstairs. She opens the door just a moment later, eyes slightly wide. “Stiles?”

He grins even brighter. “Merry Christmas!” he says spreading his arms wide and wrapping her in a hug. 

It takes her a moment to realize this _isn’t_ a pack-related emergency. When she does, she wraps her arms around him, too and smiles softly. “Merry Christmas.” 

He kisses the top of her head without really thinking about it. “I figured you’d be up already so I thought I’d swing by.” She’s always up early at Stanford, even on weekends. 

She tightens her arms around him just a little more and closes her eyes. Then, a second later, forces herself to pull back. Even if it’s just enough to look up at him as she keeps her arms around his sides. “I’m surprised _you_ are up.”

“Of course I’m up. It’s _Christmas_. I had to see what Santa left for me,” he says with wide eyes, smirk on his lips. 

She smiles up at him and shakes her head, then reaches for his hand and pulls him into the house. “Did you get what you wanted?”

“Mostly,” he answers, curling his fingers around hers and letting her lead him inside. “You? Or is your mom not up yet?” He peeks into the living room at the large Christmas tree. 

“She’s not up. I don’t think she will be for a while,” she admits, pausing to face him once they’re further into the house. “Did you have breakfast already?”

“I haven’t. Not yet. I was gonna make some later for my dad, but he got called into work on a burglary thing. You?” 

Lydia frowns a little at that. “I’m sorry he got called away on Christmas morning,” she says sincerely. Her family isn’t big on celebrating on their own. Just putting on a show for the guests, but she knows it obviously matters for Stiles. “I haven’t eaten yet, either. I’ll make us something.”

His expression brightens at that. “Can I help?” he offers, setting down the large bag he’s carrying by the tree and returning to her side. 

She cocks her head to watch him. He’s genuinely excited about this Christmas morning thing. It’s-- endearing. “Sure. We’ll have to see what we’ve got.” 

“Oh, if I need to go back to the house, I can. We’ve got plenty of stuff.” He’d gone shopping the day before to make sure the house was full of food -- the healthy kind -- for his dad. He’d go again before they headed back to Stanford. 

“We should have enough groceries. I think she went shopping yesterday since her friends are coming over later,” she tells him as she makes her way into the kitchen. “Do you want anything in particular?” She cocks her head. “Any Christmas traditions?”

“I was gonna make whole wheat pancakes for my dad,” he admits. “What about you?” 

“Don’t really have a tradition. I don’t think we’ll have everything for pancakes, though.” And once she makes that disclaimer, she starts looking through the fridge and the cabinets to make sure. But her mom would never buy maple syrup. She knows as much.

“Well, what sounds good?” he asks, peering into a cabinet full of cereal. 

“I might be able to pull off some french toast,” she tells him, turning to look at him.

“That’d be awesome. Do you have powdered sugar?” he asks, glancing at her. 

“Yep,” she answers, pulling the sugar out a moment later. “And bread. And strawberries.” 

“Perfect.” He grins, moving to open the fridge to retrieve the strawberries. 

She smiles as she watches him for a moment, then starts setting out the rest of the ingredients on the counter. “Have you been to Scott’s yet?”

Stiles shakes his head. “No way. If I go over there before 11, Melissa might shoot me. They aren’t morning people on Christmas.” 

“That’s what I thought.” She picks up a bowl and cracks an egg in it. “I think I can manage to keep you entertained until then.”

He grins at that and hops up on the counter. “Woo me with your kitchen skills.” 

Lydia pauses at that, arching her eyebrows and slowly turning to face him. Yeah, he’s in a good mood and his filters are gone, which is definitely the only reason why he’d say something like that. “I thought you were gonna help me,” she says, a little stiffly. 

“I can help you from up here,” he says, reaching out for the bowl she’s holding. 

She pulls the bowl away and hands him the box of strawberries instead. “If I can trust you with a knife, you can sit there and chop up fruit instead.” 

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not bad with a knife. I rarely ever cut myself or anyone else.” He smirks at her, opening the box of strawberries and popping one into his mouth. 

“Rarely.” She smirks back at him, before handing him a knife and a plate. “That’s the part that worries me.”

“And yet you still handed me the sharp object.” He winks at her and picks up another strawberry, slicing this one into quarters and placing them on the plate. 

“This is my attempt at trusting you with it. If you pass this test, I might let you use the stove next.” And then she turns to start the toasts.

A laugh escapes him. “You realize I’ve been cooking for my dad since I was like, twelve, right? I’m not Scott.” 

“I know,” she smiles and glances at him over her shoulder. “But then, I don’t think you’d have survived eating the way he does without his wolf metabolism.”

He grimaces. “It is kinda scary. Hot Pockets.” He shudders. 

“Exactly. At least he was ready for dorm ‘cooking’ when he got to college, I guess?” And they’re lucky they have a pretty decent cafeteria at her dorm.

“I’d shudder to see what his arteries look like if he wasn’t a werewolf.” 

Lydia just winces in response and nods, focusing back on the toasts for a moment. “Do you want coffee or tea? We should also have orange juice.” Which she’s sure her mom got for mimosas, but. Too bad.

“Coffee,” he answers immediately. Even if he’d already had two cups before he’d driven over. 

“You really should start drinking more tea.” And she has been saying that to him since they went to Stanford, but obviously, it hasn’t been effective.

“You should switch to coffee,” he responds, voice cheerful as he flashes her a grin. 

“And you were talking about the state Scott’s arteries would be in,” she teases, tsking him as she starts the coffee maker.

“Hey it’s a proven fact that caffeine makes the brain work faster, which is something I definitely need to keep up with _you_ ,” he teases back. 

“Please, you keep up with me just fine.” She sets a couple of mugs on the table and starts setting the places for the two of them. Her mom will probably be out for a while longer.

“And I drink a lot of coffee.” He leans his head back on the cabinets as he finishes cutting up the strawberries. “Correlation or causation?” 

“You always have. And you didn’t drink nearly as much coffee when we were younger. Or any at all, I’d hope.” At least before high school. Even if they didn’t talk, she knows he already knew her much better than she would have allowed anyone to know her. Because he’s always read her better than anyone else.

“Nope. Not before high school. Around sophomore year I had to increase my caffeine dosage _and_ the amount of Adderall I took just to keep up with all the crap we were dealing with.” Sleep is overrated anyway.

“So basically, your best friend became a werewolf and you became a caffeine addict,” she points out, pouring coffee into a mug and setting it in front of him. 

“Basically.” He shrugs. “Do what you gotta do, right?” 

“Right, I just started taking sleep aid to quiet the voices in my head,” she arches her eyebrows as she sets the plate of toast on the table too. 

He winces at that, pressing his lips together as he watches her. “At least you don’t have to take them every night anymore.” 

“No. And it got better in Stanford. I guess it’s like you said-- being away from the Nemeton helps.” She smiles a little at him and sits across from him. 

He relaxes a little, nodding and picks up the plate of strawberries, holding it out to her. “Good,” he said softly. 

“You okay?” she asks, mostly as a general check in. He’s been pretty animated since he walked in through the door, after all. 

“Yeah, I’m good. Are you?” He glances over at her. 

“Yeah, I’m good too.” She plates their toasts and holds a plate over to him. “Were you okay last night?”

Stiles pauses at that, but takes the plate from her. “Yeah, it was fine. Played Halo with Scott for awhile, finished wrapping gifts, and watched Night Before Christmas with my pops. What’d you get up to?” 

“Not much, actually. My mom wasn’t home when I got back, she was out with-- friends or whatever that means for her now. So I just cleaned out my closet and picked some more clothes to take back with me.” Gifts have been wrapped and under the tree since the night she got back home. It was the easiest way she found to keep herself busy.

He frowns a little at that. “You should have come over.” 

“I was okay, Stiles. You’re the one who didn’t wanna be alone, remember?” She smiles at him. It was good so she could think back to their conversation and figure out where, exactly, she lost it. And she also realized then she never asked him how his conversation with Malia went, but-- she doesn’t wanna ask him now. It’s Christmas morning and he’s here with her, so that’s something better to focus on.

Malia’s the farthest thing from his mind at the moment. He relaxes at her easy response and smiles back at her, nodding a little. “I just don’t want anyone I lo -- care about to be alone at Christmas, you know? That would royally suck.” 

She shrugs a shoulder in response. “Honestly, Christmas isn’t really that big of a deal for me. My dad always used it as an excuse to throw parties and network with his business partners. I used to stay over at my grandmother’s for it when I was little, but that was really the only time we celebrated it.”

He doesn’t want that to feel as sad to him as it does, because she doesn’t _seem_ sad about it. But it still makes him wish he’d insisted she come over to his place the night before. He nods a little at her words and takes a bite of his French toast. “Is your mom gonna be around today?” 

“Yeah. We’re supposed to make dinner for her friends. I’m assuming she invited mostly faculty? I’m sure who she’s been hanging out with since we moved. Do you guys have plans?” she answers easily. She’s not against seeing some of her high school teachers since she likes most of them. All of the ones who didn’t try to kill them, anyway. So it’ll at least be better than it used to be with her dad’s business associates.

He makes a face involuntarily because the idea of spending the holiday with teachers doesn’t really hold much appeal for him. He’d done well in school but he’d gotten on most of their nerves. He’s pretty sure he’s lucky to have lived through high school without Coach killing him alone. “The McCall’s, and then they’re supposed to come to our house for dinner and game night. Which by the way, you’re welcome to join us for if you decide you’d rather hang out with the cool kids.” His voice is very much teasing. 

“I might. After I’m done helping my mom, anyway. I think she’d actually be upset if I disappeared today,” she smirks. “But I can’t miss the opportunity to beat you at whatever game we’re playing.”

He snorts at that. “Hey, I’ll have you know that I’m an expert at Monopoly, and I kick ass at UNO.” 

“It would be no fun to beat you if you weren’t,” she points out with a shrug. 

He narrows his eyes. “Well, now you _have_ to come because that was a throwdown of a gauntlet if I’ve ever heard it.” 

Lydia laughs softly in response and shakes her head. “I’ll do my best.” 

* * * 

“Clearly, a game that lasts almost _three_ hours counts more than a forty minute one,” Lydia points out as she leans back against his headboard. Her face is flushed as she sips on the eggnog, not even thinking about the fact that she _should_ stop drinking if she wants to be able to drive home sometime before sunrise. “Besides, Clue isn’t even a fair game to play against you or your dad, anyway.” 

“No, it just means everyone fought longer and harder in an effort to keep you from winning,” he informs her matter-of-factly as he leans back against the headboard, too. 

Lydia gasps at that and playfully slaps his arm with the back of her hand. “Please, you were all just feeding my hotels with every round. You were making me win _more_ , that’s what you were doing.”

“Hey, Monopoly is really just luck of the draw, okay? You’re literally at the mercy of a dice roll.” 

“Please, it’s pure strategy. You have to think ahead of the adversary so you can win,” she presses her finger against her temple. “Unlike Clue, where you’re just guessing.”

He gasps, turning his head to stare at her in disbelief. “Bullshit, it’s based on instinct and problem solving!” 

She laughs and nods, turning toward him and leaning closer, a smirk on her lips. “ _Instinct_. Same as guessing.” 

He narrows his eyes at her, gaze dropping momentarily to her mouth. “Just like thinking ahead when it comes to people _rolling the dice._ ” 

“That’s pure logic! Not instinct. Besides, if you block an entire side of the board like I did, it’s _obvious_ people are going to have to pay. That’s how logic _works_.” And then she arches her eyebrows and sips on her glass again, eyes still on his.

Stiles opens his mouth to retort, then shuts it again before he manages to speak. Instead, he takes a drink of his own eggnog. “This shit is actually disgusting.” 

She pauses, giving him a look, then glancing at her glass and back at him. “It’s delicious. It’s really sweet.” And she is such a girl when it comes to her drinks.

He makes a face. “Liquor is supposed to burn when you drink it. I’m pretty sure that’s a rule somewhere.” 

“Why would you _want_ it to burn? It’s perfectly fine masked like this,” she points out, then takes another sip to make her point. Her head might be starting to spin a little but-- she doesn’t drink much at school. And here, she feels safe enough to allow herself to drink and _relax_ for a change.

Stiles shifts on the bed, shoulder brushing against hers as he considers that. “Because I’m a man,” he jokes. 

At that, she actually laughs loudly. After a moment, she even needs to set her glass on the bedside table. “This would be ridiculous and sexist if it wasn’t coming from _you_.” 

He makes a face at her and sets his own drink down, slouching down in the bed a bit more, eyelids starting to feel kind of heavy from the liquor. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” 

Without thinking about it -- since the thinking part of the night is definitely over -- she reaches out and pats his head gently. “You tried. I still won, though.”

Stiles’s eyebrows raise and he rolls his head to look at her. “Did you just pet me like I’m a dog?” 

Lydia pauses at that, glances at her hand then repeats the movement with a shrug. “I miss Prada?” 

He snorts involuntarily, but lets his eyes close. “You are trashed, Miss Martin.” 

“I’m not trashed,” she says firmly. At least it’s meant to be firm. “I’m relaxed.” 

“Same thing for you,” he teases, opening one eye and then letting it close again. “I’m also relaxed.” 

“What do you mean, same thing?” She frowns, shifting on the bed until she’s laying on her side, facing him. “You’re the one who’s always drunk.”

“I’m not always drunk,” he protests. “I’m rarely ever drunk. When I’m drunk I have terrible hangovers, but if no hangover happens, it wasn’t really a drunken thing.” 

Lydia rolls her eyes and shakes her head, pulling on his pillow so she can get more comfortable. “It just depends on what you drink, how you drink it, and how hydrated you stay. You know that.”

“Exactly why I’m rarely drunk. I usually hydrate hours before I start drinking alcohol.” He curls onto his side so he’s facing her, too. 

“Just because you don’t get _overly_ drunk, doesn’t mean you’re not drunk,” she points out, arching her eyebrows with some difficulty as she keeps her eyes on him. She’s getting pretty tired.

He chuckles, shifting closer to her without thinking about it. “Semantics.” 

“Nope.” She reaches over for the string on his hoodie and wraps her finger around it, looking down at it as she does. “I’ve seen you. You’re usually drunk. Like you are now.”

“Not drunk,” he argues, face close enough she can probably feel his breath on her face now. 

“Drunk,” she argues, a smile on her lips. But then she feels his warm breath, she blinks and looks up at him, her face softening a little. 

“Well, if I’m drunk, you’re drunk.” He opens his eyes and looks at her, eyes full of warmth and amusement. Contentment. 

“No, I told you. I’m _relaxed_!” She giggles softly, holding his gaze. “I just can’t drive myself home since your dad is the Sheriff and he’d be mad at me.”

“Well, I’m just _relaxed_ , too,” he states, reaching out and resting a hand on her hip. 

“Yeah, but you’re home,” she teases, tugging gently on the string of his hoodie. “Scott just abandoned me here with you when he went to drive his mom to the hospital. I bet he’s at Allison’s.”  
“Probably,” he agreed, letting his eyes shut again and resting his forehead against hers without thinking about it. “It’s okay. My dad loves you so you can just stay here tonight.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Think they’ll ever work their crap out?” 

Lydia sighs softly and closes her eyes too when he leans against her. Then she reaches out and wraps her arm around him. It’s cold out, and she’s not going anywhere anyway. This is comfortable, warm and nice. After a long moment of silence, she shrugs a shoulder. “They better. They’re idiots for wasting so much time as it is. Especially after everything we’ve all been through.” 

He makes a quiet noise in his throat in response, nodding slightly in agreement and shifts closer to her until they’re close enough to share body heat. “Yeah,” he murmurs. 

She turns her face and shifts closer, too. Until she’s laying her head half against his shoulder, half against his neck. “Do you think Scott is serious about-- those other girls?” He really only mentioned one. Becky, Becca? Lydia can’t even remember her name. But it just seems pointless to her for either of them to waste time on other people when it’s obvious what they want.

“Nah.” If he wasn’t slightly _relaxed_ , having her so close would have sent his brain into a tailspin. “Not a chance. Scott’s always been a one woman kind of guy. The second Allison shows serious interest in getting back together, he’ll jump on the chance. Trust me.” He yawns. 

She sighs deeply in response, but only shakes her head a little so she won’t move too much. “Then Scott’s an idiot. She’s too proud to tell him word for word. He needs to take the first step. He has to know this. She’s terrified.”

“So is he. She broke his heart once already,” he reminds her. Allison had been the one to break off their relationship to begin with. “They need to meet somewhere in the middle and figure it out.” 

“What if they don’t?” she asks quietly, a hint of sadness in her her voice. For both of them, and because even if she’s not connecting all the dots right now, she can still feel her stomach tight. 

He rubs her back gently. “Give ‘em some time. They’re gonna get it together. They’re just...sewing wild oats now or something.” 

Lydia presses her fingers against his back gently, running random patterns against his hoodie. “If they don’t, we’ll have to help them.” 

He grins at that, relaxing even more. “Hell yeah. Matchmaking shenanigans.” 

She giggles quietly and shakes her head. “We’ve been doing an awful job of it so far. But I guess, they never really needed it before.” And, she didn’t exactly help when it came to Allison breaking up with Scott. But they’ve both agreed that that is ancient history.

“Maybe we’ll be more helpful when we’re less relaxed,” he jokes, pressing his lips against the top of her head. 

“Relaxed is nice. This is nice,” she whispers quietly, her whole body feeling heavy.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” He feels himself starting to drift off. “Lyds?” 

“Yeah?” she whispers, turning her face a little more against his neck because it’s warm and darker than the rest of the room.

Stiles smiles softly. “Merry Christmas.” 

She smiles against his neck and tightens her arm around him a little more. “Merry Christmas, Stiles.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always appreciated! ♥


End file.
